The Strand of Zendikar
by Jadeor
Summary: Survival on Zendikar is easy, if you remember survival rule 1: everything on Zendikar wants to kill you. That's what Bomilkar, a planeswalker discovers in the very first minute that he arrives.  But what is this Strand? And why must he break it?
1. Chapter 1 Mask of Gold

**Mask of Gold**

Bomilkar wrapped his dark cloak around himself in a futile attempt to protect himself from the sharp and strong winds of this strange land. He held his head level, looking only at the narrow pathway that clung to the cliff that was his road, not daring to look down for the sheer height of it all. If one had asked Bomilkar for a word to describe this windy world he would have quite simply said: "vertical", which is probably the best word in this language to describe it, seeing as for the last week that Bomilkar had been there he had basically only traveled vertically, an endless path clinging to cliffs and canyons, linked together by useful and well spun ropes. However despite its apparent danger and verticality this world held a strange beauty that enthralled Bomilkar, and Ancient, rune-carved monoliths were strewn across this strange world, up to ten miles long, some of these stones drift in the sky; others are buried in the ground, some whole, some broken.

Luckily his golden mask, a perfect mould of his face and indeed magically enhanced so that it moved when his face moved (even opening and closing his mouth), protected it from the relentless gale, however the rest of his body was not so fortunate: he wore light clothes that barely protected him, clothes that one would wear in a baking hot sun, not on a stormy night.

At long last he reached a small hole in the cliff face and thankfully climbed inside, desperate to hide from the storm that the strong winds were surely bringing. In the last week no less that five storms had assailed him, some of the worst he had ever seen in his life, one of them had been so terrible it had brought down a cliff, so he knew that if he didn't find some cover soon he might die on this wild, vertical and complete inhospitable world.

He crawled into the hole praying to whatever gods ruled this land that it might actually lead somewhere for him to hide, and not be simply a hole. The unknown gods were kind on him, soon the hole widened out and he found he could stand up, although he still couldn't see anything.

Bomilkar closed his eyes, reaching out to the land around him, like all worlds he had visited before this new one had mana, the magical energy of the land that lets one cast spells of great power, however this worlds mana felt wild, uncontrollable and extremely powerful. Even the white mana, normally so precise, organised and proper, had a wild feel to it. The young human drew from the endless plains at the foot of the cliffs just the little amount of mana required to cast a spell that he had learnt, a spell designed to give a brief, but vivid flash designed to temporarily blind enemies and give the caster a glimpse of ones surroundings. He cast the spell without difficulty, but instead of getting a brief flash, he got a large and luminous ball of pure light, suspended above his head, lighting up the whole room.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the contents of the cave, it was clearly manmade (or at least made by some intelligent species) as it had clearly been carved into the cliff and was therefore wide and spacious. It contained a neatly stacked pile of wood and a chest, along with a small pool of clear, limpid water in the far corner. Bomilkar took in the scene with the kind of pure happiness that a man has when he is flung from the back of a dragon to an almost certain doom, only to land in a pool full of beautiful sirens.

The sound of thunder interrupted him from his daydreaming and reminded him why he had crawled in there. He opened the chest slowly, hoping to find some sort of sustenance but fearing he wouldn't. Once again the gods smiled upon him: inside the chest he found, alongside an armoury of weapons, plenty of what he could only guess was some sort of mountain root which was clearly edible.

He grinned an took out a root to try it out, nibbling cautiously at its edges. It wasn't good, however his stomach wouldn't take no for an answer and he was soon eating roots by the dozen. After satisfying his hunger Bomilkar decided to deal with his thirst and knelt down next to the clear pool, and drinking the deliciously fresh water with cupped hands he finally quenched the great thirst that had plagued him for days.

Having dealt with his needs he turned to the pile of wood, heat being next on his list. Once again he closed his eyes, this time drawing on the red mana, which, even on the most controlled of worlds, was still untameable, and here was wilder then goblin in a war frenzy. Once again he cast his spell and once again the effects were much greater then he had expected, the wood pile burst into a metre high flames bright flames, that was quickly burning away most of the wood.

Content the mage lay down next to the fire, covering himself with his cloak.

Bomilkar found himself at home once more, wondering through the great rooms of his old palace. However he didn't feel content, he felt threatened, vulnerable, helpless even. Something was wrong, he knew this much, and yet he had no idea what was out of place. After an undeterminable time he began to feel like he was being followed, and yet whenever he turned around nobody was behind him.

Suddenly he was in the portrait room, the room was of his father's creation. When their small kingdom had expanded into a real empire his father, Hanno, had decided that his family should be immortalised throughout history. Hanno was at the very top of the tapestry, along with his wife Actaee, both of them looking stern and powerful, as any pharaoh should, however both their portraits were tinged with grey, an invention of Bomilkar's brother Hasdrubal to signify they were deceased. Hasdrubal, first son of Hanno, was also tinged with grey along with his wife: he had been older then Bomilkar by about thirty years, however his line lived on. Next to Hasdrubal was Burrhus, a bit of a family joke to be honest, also deceased. Last and closest of Bomilkar's brothers was Theophanes, a great governor but a bachelor to his last breath and the only one of the four sons to not take a wife. Last was Bomilkar, wearing the same golden mask he had worn since the age of ten, worn for so long he had almost forgotten his own face. Next to him was Pervinca, his lovely wife. Bellow was Protogonia, his only child and only joy, and next to her was… Thero, her husband, and Bomilkar's son in law.

Bomilkar clenched his teeth at the sight of his son in law, there was no lost love between them. Thero looked like none of his family, with unusually pale skin and a devious, sharp look, he looked like evil incarnate. It was only then that Bomilkar realised what was wrong with the tapestry: his own portrait was tinged with the same gray of his father and brothers.

"Looking at something, conqueror?" Came an arrogant and mocking voice from behind him.

Bomilkar turned slowly to see his son in law standing behind him, a dagger in his hand.

"You!" Was all the pharaoh managed to say. Thero grinned a decidedly evil grin.

"Yes my lord, me." Answered the young upstart stepping forwards and stabbing Bomilkar in the chest.

Bomilkar woke up screaming, gripping his chest where Thero had stabbed him.

"Your sleep is plagued with memories stranger." Said a light, musical, but definitely male voice. It's accent was strange and the solemn and yet playful way he talked extremely strange.

"Who's isn't?" Countered Bomilkar, opening his eyes and looking around for the owner of that voice. He found it in the figure sitting over the embers of the fire.

"Fair point." Chuckled the stranger. He turned to meet Bomilkar's gaze and the ex-pharaoh barely managed to hide his surprise upon seeing the stranger. His face was sharp and almost quick. The stranger wore light and yet protective clothes that seemed to be held together by a intricate web of strings and hooks, on his back were several hooks and ropes. But it wasn't his dress that surprised Bomilkar, rather his physical appearance. His skin was pure white, as was his long straight hair that came down to his shoulders and what at first glance seemed to be a beard but revealed itself to be some sort of strange protuberances.

"Who... what are you?" Inquired Bomilkar, trying to sound interested and not horrified.

The humanoid frowned at his words. "You must be from far off indeed, Masked One, to not know of the Kor, for I thought the Kor were to be found all across Zendikar."

Bomilkar, realising that Zendikar was the name of this strange world, memorised the name, along with the name of the species: Kor, it was always best to come off as just another inhabitant of the plane. He noticed a smashed glider at the entrance of the cave and realised that this Kor must have been caught in the storm of the night before and was surprised that he was still alive.

"I come from far north of here my good… Kor, and try to stay away from all peoples as much as possible." Answered Bomilkar, hoping that this simple lie would spare him any more uncomfortable questions.

Clearly his answer had impressed the Kor. "So you come from Sejiri? Well that certainly explains your strange dress stranger, one hears of all sorts coming from up there."

Bomilkar was unsure whether to take it as a compliment or an insult, however he decided that the Kor clearly didn't mean any offence and so the he decided to dismiss it.

"What is your name?" He asked, deciding that this Kor would surely be useful in getting across the difficult terrain.

" I am Marak, a follower of Kamsa." He paused, and seeing Bomilkar's confusion explained. "She is the goddess of the wind, the breath of the world, and protects us Kor better then any other. And what is your name?"

"Bomilkar the Conqueror." Answered Bomilkar, saying his whole title without thinking.

"That is great name, especially for one that stays away from all peoples as much as possible." Said Marak, clearly amused at Bomilkar's slip. 'The Conqueror' cursed his own stupidity.

"And how did a human of Sejiri wind up in a Kor refuge of Ondu?" Asked Marak, grinning once again.

"Weather forced me to move." Answered Bomilkar, another simple lie, and from what he had seen of the weather of this plane a well founded one. He paused, realising that Marak had given a name to this cave. "Kor refuge?"

"Yes, we kor know how dangerous the journey across the Makindi Trenches can be, so we created these caves for any weary travellers seeking refuge from the Roil. The roil has been getting more and more dangerous of late, I'm afraid it is no better here."

Marak said, all his humour and grins gone in a heartbeat.

"You have lost someone to the roll?" Pressed Bomilkar, deciding it was his turn to ask the uncomfortable questions.

Marak shook his head. "Let us not talk of this any more stranger." He said shortly and the look on his face made Bomilkar repent what he had been trying to do. He bowed his head to the Kor's request and the two of them drifted into silence, both sinking into the memories of the past.

After several minutes of silence, in which Bomilkar watched Thero stab him repeatedly in his mind's eye, he could bare it no longer.

He went to the chest, took out a root and began nibbling contentedly. It was only half way through the root that he noticed Marak's bemused look.

"What?"

"It's supposed to be cooked." Answered Marak, grinning again.

"If you know a way to cook it without a fire please enlighten me."

He said testily, trying to sound like this was old news. Marak frowned.

"I'm sorry Bomilkar, I did not mean to belittle you. In truth I am indebted to you, if it wasn't for your great fire that showed me this refuge I'd probably be drake breakfast be now. Bloody Roil."

He sounded extremely angry at this 'Roil' all of a sudden and Bomilkar's curiosity was aroused.

"I ask you again Marak, who did you loose to the Roil?"

Marak's face sagged. "Most of my clan, we must of displeasured Kamsa as she unleashed a terrible wind on us while we were skyfishing, a couple of years ago. Many of us were hurled against the cliffs and died on impact. The rest of us were not so fortunate, we tried to ride the wind like a true Kor should, but Kamsa's ire was great and we were carried wherever she willed us. One by one they perished, some tried to hook onto to the cliffs, others to grab hold of one of the numerous ropes that span this region. However they all failed, most thrown against the rocks and those that didn't try to escape were caught by the many deadly tornadoes of the Roil. In the end it was only me, riding the winds like I had never done before. When I had given up all hope of surviving, Kamsa granted me mercy she carried me gently to the ground. For years now I have lived alone, me and my glider fly through Ondu every day, often straight through the Roil, but always does Kamsa protect me from death."

He sounded bitter, as though he actually wanted to die. Bomilkar didn't know what to say: what could one say to one who had seen his entire life, all one loved smashed to pieces by a treacherous wind?

"Enough about me Bomilkar, we need to set out while the sky is clear-" He paused and looked at the human. "Where are you headed?"

"Nearest place remotely resembling a city." Answered Bomilkar.

"Greypelt sounds like our best bet them, five days as the drake flies. We've best arm ourselves." Said Marak, returning to his former joviality. He stood up and walked over to the chest. "You've got to love Kor refuges, they keep everything a traveller needs: food, weapons, water and even torches, and they are replenished at least once every moon cycle."

He opened the chest and grinned, he pulled out a hook and rope and a short and heavy sword. He tossed the sword over to Bomilkar and put the hook on his back.

"Any human in Zendikar needs a machete: that blade will be your guardian, your liberator and your best friend all rolled into one." He said in answer to Bomilkar's inquisitive glance. "And I noticed you aren't armed."

Bomilkar nodded his thanks and put the machete into his belt. "I lost my sword when I left my home, I had completely forgotten about it, thanks." He was actually telling the truth: upon his first planeswalk he didn't have his sword on him and he had never replaced it.

"A machete is truly the most trustworthy weapon one can have around here: it cuts as easily through the brambles of Turntimber as the zombies of Agadeem. Come stranger, Zendikar awaits."


	2. Chapter 2 Conquering Zendikar

**Conquering Zendikar**

Bomilkar had to admit Marak was an invaluable help through the Makindi Trenches of Ondu, leading the human confidently as though he knew the paths off by heart. Sometimes the path finished in a dead end and they had to climb across the cliff face to get to another but they always made it across thanks to Marak.

"How long have you lived in these canyons?" Asked Bomilkar, trying to distract himself from the dizzying drop.

"All my life, my clan were devout followers of Kamsa and the mesas Ondu are truly the best places to feel her. Rarely have I ventured out of them."

The path ended and they once again had to interrupt their discussion. Bomilkar shivered as he climbed across the cliff, he was not meant for such heights. Marak on the other hand was clearly an expert climber, finding hand holds everywhere and often using his hooks to help him. The pharaoh heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing the next part of the path just a couple of feet away.

"Bomilkar watch out!" Marak yelled from above. Bomilkar glanced upwards to see Marak's panic strucken face.

"What?"

As if in answer to his question something large grabbed him by the waist and wrenched of the cliff face. It took Bomilkar a couple of seconds to realise that he was being borne away by some volatile creature and was probably going to end up as its dinner. Not a nice way to die.

He reached down for his machete, drew it and began to cut at the scaly paw that held him. However the only effect this had was the paw tightening its grip. Bomilkar twisted in its hold to get a look at his assailant: the creature that was holding him was either a large drake or a small dragon, grey and sleek it had already carried him away from the trenches and they were now above a large plateau, or as Marak called it 'mesa'.

"Bomilkar!" Came a cry from below him, he twisted around once more to see a grinning Marak hanging below them, holding onto to two ropes that he had somehow managed to attach to the drake's back. Marak was grinning, clearly pumped with adrenaline, and was slowly climbing up the ropes as nimbly as he had climbed the cliffs. "Can you get free?" He called above the wind.

Bomilkar nodded, but he knew that even if he could get free it would only mean plummeting to a certain death. Marak's grin spread even further and he continued to climb.

The human knew he had to act fast as he was convinced that Marak might well throw both their lives in danger with some rash act. He called once again upon Zendikar's mana, more confidently this time, he needed something uncontrollable. Lights, bright lights of a blinding white flashed in front of them, creating a perfect distraction. The drake veered sharply, making Marak swing dangerously, distracting him from his task.

The pharaoh grinned and therefore his mask grinned too. This time he used mana to envelope the blade of his machete with flames and stabbed once more at the paw. The drake let out a roar and dropped him, however Bomilkar was ready and had already grabbed on to the drake's paw with his free hand. Using all his might he pulled himself up onto the drake's back and clung onto it as though is life depended on it, which it probably did. He found two hooks hooked onto the drake's spine and attached to them were Marak's two ropes.

"It's time to end this." Muttered Bomilkar, making fire lick his blade. He stabbed at the drake's back with all his might with one hand, while he unhooked one of the hooks with the other and tied the rope around his waist, then with a yell he threw himself off the drake's back. The air hurtled past him and not for the first time he silently thanked his mask for protecting him form the elements. He passed a stupefied Marak on the way down and was thankful to see that the Kor still held on to both ropes. Suddenly the rope became taut and he was suspended by the waist just a metre from the ground of the mesa.

He stared at the ground rushing by them for a couple of seconds, and was happy to notice that the drake was slowly going down.

"That wasn't bad." Said Marak, to Bomilkar's surprise he found the Kor hanging onto the very rope that he was tied too. "You could almost be a Kor."

"How are we still held up?"

"I tied the end of this rope to the other, it was the only way for me to come down here, Kor knots, they never come undone. And now we can…" Marak left the sentence unfinished and slashed at the rope with a knife, severing it and sending them both crashing to the ground. Bomilkar pulled himself up with difficulty, his lungs clogged up with the sand that covered the top of the mesa. He coughed hard and looked around for the drake, surprisingly it was still flying, however it wasn't flying at all well, only one wing seemed to be actually beating and it was slowly getting closer to the ground. With one last, defiant roar it stopped beating its wings and plummeted to the ground about fifty feet from them, and lay motionless.

"All in all a job well done." Said Marak cheerfully, dusting himself off. He looked at Bomilkar. "Did you use magic?"

The question was surprisingly blunt and Bomilkar found himself at a loss for words.

"Yes, I have a certain er- minor proficiency with magic." He answered, telling part of the truth.

"You are full of surprises Conqueror."

"One does one's best."

Marak began to walk towards the carcass. "That drake has actually done us a favour, it has refreshed our food supply and it has saved us a couple of hours of journey, we should reach Turntimber in two days."

Bomilkar nodded, he didn't know anything about local geography and so he was completely at Marak's mercy.

Remembering his machete, Bomilkar followed the Kor and pulled it out of the creature's back.

"It must truly be a good weapon if it penetrated the beast's scales." Marvelled Marak. Bomilkar shifted uncomfortably but decided to not tell Marak how he had penetrated the scales, being known as a powerful mage meant being distrusted.

A strong gust of wind made them both turn around to see a fast approaching black storm cloud.

"Kamsa be praised she has warned us of the Roil. Come my friend, we must find a refuge for the night."

He drew his knife, cut a couple of slabs of meat off the carcass and set out towards the sun set, Bomilkar followed suit.

"How did you do that?" Asked Bomilkar, quickening his pace to catch up with the Kor.

"Do what?"

"That! The trick with the hooks, it was amazing!"

Marak turned to Bomilkar. "I'm a kite sailor human, to fish the skies of Ondu is to be amazing or wind up as eel food."

Bomilkar nodded, he still hadn't really understood what a kite sailor was but he knew that if he wanted to blend in he'd have to not ask to many questions. As they reached the edge of the plateau Bomilkar's jaw dropped at the striking beauty of the scene: before them was a vast green plain, littered with those same strange monoliths, some floating, others imbedded in the soft soil. Beyond the plains was the biggest forest, spreading far beyond the eye could see.

"So beautiful, and yet so deadly." Muttered Bomilkar, simply awed.

"Come friend, we have little time." Called Marak impatiently, he was already fastening hooks to the top of the cliff. Remembering the Roil, the human hurried to help him and when Marak was satisfied they began the descent.

They found a cave about half way down the cliff: unlike the entrance to the Kor refuge this one seemed to Bomilkar to almost be a gaping mouth, ready to devour them.

He looked inquisitively at his companion. "Kor refuge?" He asked hopefully, but Marak shook his head.

"No Kor made this." He answered gravely.

"Beggars can't be choosers." Said Bomilkar, dropping into the cave. Marak followed his lead and dropped in next to him.

The Kor sniffed curiously, earning himself a bemused look from Bomilkar.

"Smoke." He whispered, drawing a hook.

Bomilkar frowned, but gripped the comforting handle of his machete anyway. They advanced slowly and quietly, so quietly that every now and again Bomilkar had to look at his companion to see if he was actually still there. The further they got in the darker it became, until eventually they had to light a couple of torches.

The path began to slope downwards and the sounds of voices and music drifted upwards along with the sweet aroma of roast… something.

The two exchanged a glance. "Goblins." Mouthed Marak, Bomilkar nodded.

Clenching his teeth Bomilkar took a step forwards. There came a deep rumbling sound from above.

"Get down!" Yelled Marak, charging into Bomilkar and knocking him to the side of the passage.

He wasn't a minute to soon: a ball of lava rumbled past them, destroying everything in its wake.

"You're welcome." Said Marak, standing up and pulling Bomilkar to his feet.

"How did you know it wouldn't get us on the side?"

"I didn't, around here if you hear any sort of noise the best policy is to find the nearest cover, there are traps everywhere."

"I'll bear that in mind." Muttered Bomilkar.

They continued their descent for a couple of minutes, but the human had a strange feeling like something was wrong, missing, out of place and yet he couldn't quite place it. He gripped his machete even tighter when he realized it: the goblins had stopped talking and singing. He turned to inform his companion, but was interrupted by what sounded like some sort of ghastly death scream.

"What in Talib's name could have made such a noise?" Inquired Marak. His question was answered when ten small and leathery green skinned humanoids with a slender build and unusually long arms, dropped from the ceiling and landed in front of them, armed with a variety of pointy weapons.

The one in the centre, taller then his companions by about a foot and boasting a large sword, stepped forwards.

"Thank Kamsa! They wish to negotiate!" Exclaimed Marak happily.

The goblin looked at him long and hard. "AIIIEEE!" He screamed, making both of them jump.

"Since when did 'AIIIEEE' become a negotiation tactic?" Asked Bomilkar, drawing his machete.

The goblins jumped upon them with shrill war woops, two were met by hooks that imbedded themselves in the goblins chests, killing them. A third was met by a brief slash of Bomilkar's machete, it was an expert slash and severed the goblins head from its body with one fine stroke. However the other seven carried on regardless, they were clearly in some sort of frenzy and fought with surprising fury.

They started duelling and soon it became clear that the goblins would eventually overcome them.

Bomilkar parried a jab at a his stomach and kicked the goblin in question away. He turned to see the Kor jumping a low slash from the chief goblins sword, to then take another with a swing of his deadly hooks.

Bomilkar gasped as a goblin blade scraped his chest, leaving quite a deep scar. Despite the two adventurers clearly being the better fighter and having a large advantage in size, the goblins were many and were in a blood lust. Bomilkar knew it was only a matter of time before one of them fell if he didn't do something.

This time he didn't close his eyes to draw on the mana but merely cast the spell, a huge fireball fell on three goblins like a dragon: terrible and full of death.

The remaining three goblins stared at him with panic stricken looks.

"Who you, fire master?" Asked the goblin chief, his voice was raspy and reminded Bomilkar of sand paper.

Bomilkar held up its sword and let flames lick its blade. "I am a great pyromancer, and you would do well not to hinder me, I do not seek a conflict goblin." He purposefully used long words, knowing that the goblin would barely understand him and therefore fear him even more.

The goblin threw at his feet. "Come to cave, fire master." Bomilkar was impressed, he knew big words, for a goblin at least.


	3. Chapter 3 Goblin Parties

**Goblin parties**

Bomilkar held the place of honour at the goblin banquet. On one side he had the goblin chieftain, a young and energetic goblin that had bowed so many times when he had met the Pharaoh that he fell over while doing it. On the other was the strong and tall (for a goblin) one that wielded the sword and had introduced himself as Zurdi.

They were eating on a stone table like formation that in a half moon shape, creating a stage in the middle. Despite their lack of manners (no plates, glasses or even a knife and fork), it was enjoyable and the food seemed divine to a man that had spent the last two days living off roots. The goblins talked in their raspy voices, telling Bomilkar of the great relics they had found and the dastardly acts of courage they had accomplished. Bomilkar chuckled to himself, wherever you went goblins never changed.

"And so I charge 'dis biiig dragon, right? You followin'?" One young goblin was saying in their usual raspy voice in the centre of the stage. "I yell greatly, make'd 'de eard tremble, right?

"Which means he squeaked like a mouse at a small drake." Whispered Marak from behind him. Marak had not been allowed to sit at the banqueting table but was standing behind him and eating food given to him by Bomilkar. Apparently there was no lost love between Kor and goblins.

"Well 'den 'dis dragon roared, you followin'? But I not scare, and so it flew away, just like 'dis, you followin'?"

The goblin finished his tale by imitating a dragon in flight and say a couple of last "Right? You followin'?" to a round of applause.

"Bring out 'de grit!" Called out the goblin chieftain, an announcement that seemed to excite the goblins a lot more than necessary.

A couple of young goblins came bearing trays of what appeared to be… grit. To Bomilkar's amazement they put a small portion of grit in front of every goblin at the table and to his even greater amazement the goblins ate it with evident gusto.

When it came to his turn he tried to decline politely but the goblins wouldn't hear of it, it was clearly impolite for a goblin to eat something that his guest didn't. Bomilkar tried to ask Marak for help but the Kor merely grinned in an annoying manner.

In the end it was Zurdi who saved Bomilkar, seeing the human's discomfort the goblin didn't hesitate but quickly moved Bomilkar's pile onto his part of the table and devoured it happily.

"Why do you eat grit?" Asked Bomilkar in an undertone.

"Grit, human, 'as 'de greatest defence mechanism, it cannot be harmed, and 'dat is wat we want."

"To be grit?" Asked Bomilkar, marvelling at the stupidity of goblins.

Zurdi nodded and held out his arm. "Feel human." Not wanting to be impolite Bomilkar felt the goblin's arm, it was hard, almost… grit like.

"'Dat is why we eat grit, to toughen us up." Explained Zurdi, he then pointed at some of the elders of the goblin tribe and only then did Bomilkar realize that the elders, instead of the green of the young goblins, were different varieties of grey and all looked rather stone like.

Zurdi nudged Bomilkar, directing his attention back to the stage: three goblins had come, armed with two skin drums and a strange flute. Knowing goblin's fame for awful music, Bomilkar was tempted to use a spell to muffle his ears. But before he could start drawing mana from the land the drums started: they were fast and rhythmic and for some reason they reminded the human of freedom, of the hunt, of war and he decided it was almost likeable.

Then the flute started. It was a deep, awakening noise, it was freedom, rage and it got under Bomilkar's skin. Then the goblins began to dance: their dance was strange and yet it seemed to fit the music, they were spinning slowly, then the rhythm increased its speed and they began to move faster. Bomilkar found himself, to his surprise, dancing among them, spinning just like them. He was no longer the pyromancer that had defeated their warriors, he was one of them, dancing away the oppression and the difficulties that was life on Zendikar.

"Wake up, oh great dancer." Said somebody, interrupting Bomilkar's perfect sleep.

"Just a little longer." He answered grumpily.

"Ok, I'll ask the Roil to wait for you then." Chuckled Marak.

"Fine!" Bomilkar pulled himself of the ground with great difficulty.

"Is there a time that you actually take of your mask?" Asked Marak, staring at his companion's golden visage.

"Well there was this short period of time after I was born." Replied the Pharaoh drily.

"Why wear it?" Asked Marak, his curiosity aroused.

"After many tears, my family decided it was the best thing for me." He said, knowing that this twisted truth would only confuse Marak further.

"What?"

"Another time my friend, another time." Marak nodded, but he was clearly still extremely curious.

"Fire master!" Called a raspy goblin voice, giving Bomilkar the excuse he needed to end the awkward conversation. Zurdi, the young goblin, was walking towards them. Bomilkar smiled despite himself, during the fight and at the banquet the sword bearer had earned his respect, proving to be both more intelligent and stronger then most goblins.

"You come wid' me, fire master." He said importantly, they both got up but Zurdi held out his hand at the Kor. "Not Kor, just master." He said, grinning a toothy grin. Marak scowled but said nothing, unsure whether to be glad or annoyed at the way the goblins treated him.

The human and the goblin set off at a fast pace, going through a seemingly endless network of tunnels varying from the size of a baloth to that of a gnarlid.

Finally they reached their destination, deep in the heart of the mesa, an absolutely gigantic cave, lit up by a lava river that passed through its centre. On the other side were a collection of big, imposing statues of goblins.

"'Dis is place of our ancestors, the shrine of 'de goblin lord." Explained Zurdi with evident pride.

Bomilkar could merely stare: there was something about the shrine that made him feel strong, full of emotion.

"A shrine to unchecked desire." Muttered Bomilkar, staring at the cave, mesmerized.

"It was created before my time, or 'dat of my fader or my fader fader."

Knowing the usual lifespan of goblins, and the dangers of Zendikar, Bomilkar wasn't surprised by this news: it was possible that Zurdi's father had died at the age of five.

"You give 'dem fire." Zurdi commanded, looking at the human expectantly.

"How?"

"You give 'dem fire." Repeated Zurdi, clearly not planning to explain his strange words.

Bomilkar shrugged and turned to face the statues across the lava. His decided that it seemed fitting to fire a fire ball at the shrine, as it was the very way that he had killed their warriors.

The mana came easily to his call, and this time he rejoiced in its wildness. He started the spell creating a small sphere of fire in his left hand, and fed it with red mana until it got to two metres in diameter.

"You want fire, I'll give you fire." He said, grinning with the feeling of power that had overcome him. He fired the ball at the statues with a certain feeling of satisfaction. But the fireball never reached the shrine, above the lava river it exploded with such force that it threw them both to the ground.

Bomilkar lifted his head from the ground, trying to see what had stopped his spell, to his surprise he found an old man standing in the lava river. His skin was so grey that he looked like a statue himself and Bomilkar, remembering the goblins's obsession with grit, wouldn't have been at all surprised if he was almost one.

"Greetings pyromancer." His voice was deep and frankly a bit of a relief after the goblin's rasps.

"Greeting shaman." Replied Bomilkar, getting to his feet.

The man smiled, clearly glad that Bomilkar had recognized his rank in the tribe.

"I apologise for the trick, but I had to make sure you were the one." His words didn't make sense, but Bomilkar didn't ask for an explanation, he had a feeling he was about to understand.

"You are the one."

"Who am I?" Asked Bomilkar. The man grinned.

"The one that will save Zendikar." Answered the shaman, clearly enjoying himself. "You have passed the test."

"What test?" Asked Bomilkar, almost yelling.

The shaman grinned ear to ear. "Dark times are coming to Zendikar, planeswalker…" Bomilkar raised his eyebrows, the fact that this man knew what he was increased his respect for the elder tenfold. "…and I can do nothing to help my people." He leaned in close and lowered his voice. "The gods will awaken in the heart of this plane, and that does not bode well for us."

Bomilkar shivered, maybe it was some mesmerizing trick but the planeswalker believed everything he said.

"And what have I got to do with this?" He asked, knowing that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be easy.

"I can only give you one clue and nothing else: the Strand planeswalker, you must cut the Strand."

Bomilkar nodded without the slightest idea what the strand was.

"The goblins will be with you conqueror, wherever you go. Oh and one last thing, always remember survival rule 1: everything on Zendikar wants to kill you." The man disappeared in a flash, leaving a bewildered Bomilkar in his wake.

"Come master, we go now." Said Zurdi from behind him.

"Go where Zurdi?"

"Turntimber is our destination." It wasn't the goblin that had said that, no goblin had that articulate and refined speech. He turned to see Marak walking out of the tunnel.

"How long have you been there for?" Asked Bomilkar suspiciously, he wasn't sure when Marak had arrived or how much he had heard.

"I only just got here." Answered Marak, holding out his hands as if to prove that they were clean.

"Why Turntimber?"

"Because it's the closest thing resembling a city around here, or at least Greypelt refuge is." Answered Marak as though this much was obvious. "Come human, I know the perfect, and most stylish way to get there."

They sped across the plains at what seemed to Bomilkar to be an impossible speed, so fast that he could barely catch a glimpse of the scenery before it was gone. Land surfer, that's how Marak had described it, a strange three wheeled boat like contraption with a huge sail that caught the wind and sped them on their way.

Bomilkar sat at the helm, clutching the steering bar with both hands and feeling extremely nervous. Marak sat at the back, constantly adjusting the sail so that it caught the wind in its most powerful point (which of course varied constantly).

Cowered in the centre of the boat was Zurdi. Zurdi and his goblin brethren had been all to happy to see Bomilkar and Marak work away at the boat, and decided that goblin craftsmanship had been necessary. They were eager workers, one so eager that he sawed off his own hand, but despite them the land surfer was finished on time and Zurdi insisted on accompanying them. He seemed to have developed a certain attachment to Bomilkar.

Bomilkar wasn't exactly having the time of his life either, they were moving way to fast for his liking, and steering wasn't exactly easy: the plains was littered with obstacles (the largest of which were the monoliths) and the dunes weren't easy to get across either.

"How much further?" Yelled Bomilkar, hoping that the wind would carry his words back to Marak.

"No idea!" Came Marak's cheerful reply, barely audible over the wind. Bomilkar shook his head, the Kor sounded like he was actually enjoying himself.

They went over a surprisingly large dune and suddenly there it was, looming before them: Turntimber forest, only about a mile away. Bomilkar wasn't surprised to see that it, just like the rest of Ondu, seemed to be way to big, or at least too tall. The trees were bent and twisted as though they had grown around invisible poles or something, which Bomilkar guessed had something to do with Zendikar's wild mana.

The trees loomed closer and closer, and it was only then that Bomilkar remembered something very important.

"Marak, how on… Zendikar do you stop this thing?" He yelled staring at the trees which were much too close for his liking.

When Marak didn't answer him he turned around, to see Marak staring at him with horror. _Oh by the gods no_! Thought Bomilkar, turning forwards again and trying to work out how to stop them from crashing.

However he had barely turned around when they hit into a tree with a resounding crash.


	4. Chapter 4 Turning Timber

**Turning Timber**

Bomilkar groaned. He felt like a behemoth had walked on him then a dragon had eaten him and spat him out along with a torrent of flame.

"Thanks Marak for a 'pefect' and 'stylish' way here." He said through clenched teeth, untangling himself from the wreckage of what was left of their land surfer.

"Don't blame me, blame… goblin engineering!" Answered Marak, also pulling himself from the wreckage, looking quite cheerful as usual.

"Never again. Never again. Never again. Never again." Came a rasp from under an upturned and surprisingly still whole piece of the surfer.

"Zurdi?" Called Bomilkar, walking towards it.

"I 'ere master, I 'ere." The upturned surfer replied. Bomilkar grabbed the upturned boat and pulled it up to reveal a crouched Zurdi, looking a little greener then usual. The goblin crawled out fearfully as though expecting for it all to become even worse.

And, as always on Zendikar, it did. This 'even worse' took the form of snakes, lots of snakes, in fact most might say to many snakes. From tiny tree snakes to massive cobras, from the harmless to the lethally venomous, from the mundane to the mana-infused the serpents, they all slithered upon them en mass.

It was just one or two at first, but after five steps into the forest the floor was writhing with them. The three companions started by merely brushing them off their legs, but soon each one was holding them at bay with drawn weapons, and not hesitating to kill them if they got too close.

After beheading the fiftieth viper with his machete, Bomilkar began to wonder if just maybe they were a bit too many, but what could they do? They couldn't turn back and so forwards was their only option.

"Bom!" Called Marak from behind him, making Bomilkar turn indignantly on him.

"Bom?" He asked, horrified at this nickname.

"Forget about that, right now you need to get rid of these snakes!"

Bomilkar saw the wisdom in his words, magic was clearly the best option to getting rid of this plague. He focused to gather mana and his plan hit a minor snag: the mana in the forest was all green, a type that he had no knowledge of, and was amazingly strong, so strong that he could barely feel red and white mana.

"I can't get rid of them, there's only enough mana around here for a minor spell." He told them. They both looked severely disappointed.

"Don't worry, there may be another way out of here." He told them smiling, reaching to the faint red mana, it was a poor amount but enough.

Unlike most spells this one had no noticeable effects when he cast it, and so the other two didn't realize he had even cast it. Then he started running, in an amazing burst of speed he was almost out of their sight before they had realized where he had gone. They ran after him, and discovered that they to, like him, had become extremely fast, leaving the mass of snakes behind.

"Amazing!" Yelled Marak, overtaking Bomilkar with an even larger grin then usual.

"Glad to see your having fun." Commented Bonmilkar, who was tiring quickly.

"Good work human, I knew you had it in you." Praised Marak, giving him a toothy grin.

His euphoria was brought to a halt when Zurdi let out a cry of pain from behind them. They both spun around to see Zurdi lying on the ground, an arrow in his back.

"Zurdi!" Cried Bomilkar, running (very fast of course) to his side, to his relief the goblin was still breathing, still it was close thing, he'd have to act fast.

He pulled the arrow out with a sharp yank, making sure not to widen the wound. He then gathered as much white mana as he could from the land and put his hand on the wound.

He let the healing essence of white soak into the wound, healing it in part. He didn't have enough to heal it completely so they'd have to make do.

An arrow imbedded itself in the soft soil, inches from his leg. The planeswalker took the hint and, grabbing Zurdi, ran speedily for cover behind the nearest tree, about a metre away.

He lay Zudi at its feet, drew on the white mana, then cast a spell that created a white ring of pure light around the goblin, putting him in a temporary stasis and isolating him from the world.

He smiled fondly at the frozen goblin, then set off to find their attackers. Of course he didn't set of by ground, because that would have been pointless. Instead he climbed the tree, which had a trunk about four metres wide and not vertical, but curved around a mana spike which made it a perfect path.

He soon reached a point where the trees were so close that they seemed to be linked.

Bomilkar drew his machete and set of through the treetops, searching for their assailants.

"Where did the masked one go?" Came a surprisingly civilized voice from nearby from nearby. Bomilkar crouched, trying to determine the source of the noise.

"He's not the only one that's disappeared, the Kor has too. I got the goblin in the back though. Stupid brute." Replied another, deeper voice, sounding quite pleased with himself. Bomilkar's blood boiled, he charged in their direction of the voices, running up a steep trunk.

He found three elves, each one armed with bows and swords and bearing many and intricate tattoos.

Using his speed, he was among them before they even realised he had arrived, hungry for their blood. His machete took out one with a swift slash at the neck, severing his windpipe. He knocked the second from the trees by shouldering him off the side, sending him screaming to his death. He was happy to see that the last one was the very one that had shot Zurdi.

The elf drew dual short swords, he didn't look as graceful or elegant as most elves on the other planes, instead he looked strong and wild, his face hard.

"My second kill of the day, come and taste my blades human." The elf grinned, not seeming at all perturbed by his dead companions.

Bomilkar replied with a yell of rage, leaping at his opponent with his machete poised to strike. However the elf was fast and sidestepped easily, laughing. Bomilkar landed and spun around to parry a slash from his opponent in the same movement. He parried the attack and twirled his blade with such force that he sent the elf's sword plummeting towards the far off ground. The human then went in with a stab of his own, but the elf was quick and parried with his remaining sword.

He was no longer looking so amused, instead he was looking annoyed. Gripping his remaining sword so hard that his fingers had gone white.

"Too much for you elf?" Asked Bomilkar, goading him into making a mistake.

The elf made the mistake, he put all his might into one attack, one strong swing at Bomilkar's torso, sending him completely off balance. Bomilkar ducked, narrowly avoiding it. He kicked out at the elf's front leg, sending him sprawling. The elf landed on the very edge of the trunk, and before he could get up Bomilkar was upon him, and pointed his machete at his throat at his throat.

"You think you have won, human? Even as you reach for victory, the fates snatch it away from your outstretched fingers." At the end of his sentence he glanced at something behind Bomilkar, and it was that that saved the human's life.

Bomilkar threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the volley of arrows that sped past him. The human turned to see more elves on a nearby tree, each one with a bow trained on his chest.

Bomilkar raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, trying to reach to the faint white mana for some protection.

The elf he had defeated picked himself up and pressed the blade of his sword at his throat.

"Do not trust fate human, because she always leads us astray." With those swords he raised his sword, preparing to strike the killing blow.

Suddenly there was a thud and he fell over backwards with a yell of pain. An arrow was quivering in his chest. Bomilkar glanced at the elves, to see that one of them, a female, had fired the arrow, and was already notching another one, pointing her bow at Bomilkar.

"Aim for the head and chest, I want him dead the moment the first arrow strikes." She commanded, clearly the highest ranking in the group and Bomilkar had to admit despite himself, strikingly beautiful, with a head of black shiny hair that fell perfectly around her head and tattoos that seemed to fit her perfectly.

"So this is how you fight is it, safe in your trees with your comfortable bows, you cowards." Said Bomilkar, hoping to goad them into an open fight.

"Silence!" Commanded the woman, her voice filled with rage. "It is not for you to question the ways of the Joraga."

Bomilkar laughed. "Silence? What are you going to do, shoot me if I disobey? You're going to do that anyway, you are a coward so live with it."

"Another word masked one, and you get an arrow in your throat." Said the she-elf, menacingly.

Bomilkar grinned as he readied his spell, mixing red and white mana for the best effect, this was going to be fun. "So shoot me then." He challenged. The elves seemed to hesitate, but then the she-elf nodded and they prepared to fire.

"On my command." Muttered the elf. "Three, two, one f-" She stopped in surprise as a hook came seemingly out of nowhere and cut the string of here bow.

"Sorry I'm late." Said Marak, dropping down from the canopy above and landing next to Bomilkar with the usual agility. "I had to wait until the… best moment to strike."

"You took your time." Answered Bomilkar, a bit peeved about not being alowed to cast his spell.

"I like to make an entrance." He said, grinning.

"Shoot them!" Ordered the she-elf, her elves fired with deadly accuracy, however halfway towards their prey they simply halted in mid air, to then be thrown back with equal force at their very owners. Only two elves were quick enough to dodge their own arrows, throwing themselves to the side in the nick of time.

"Good one Bom." Exclaimed Marak enthusiastically.

Bomilkar gave him a withering look, he loathed that nickname. But apparently nothing could diminish the ever cheerful Kor's good moods.

The three remaining elves, including the she-elf with a cut string moved in on them, jumping from branch to branch until they were on the same trunk.

They boasted long and sharp swords and two of them advanced upon them, while the last one of them raised a horn to his lips. A strong and loud sound severed the silence of the forest, making Bomilkar jump. However much worse was what it meant: reinforcements.

However before he could decide the best course of action the she-elf was upon him, and he barely managed to parry her first attack: she was strong, for a female.

Before he could retaliate she had spun around him and attacked him again on the flank, forcing him to concede a step to parry her next attack. She tried the same tactic again but this time he was ready and slashed at her in mid twirl, forcing her to dodge and interrupting her move.

Next to him Marak was fighting against the other two elves, luckily Marak was clearly in control of the situation, and his hooks that he wielded with such precision gave him a great advantage over his opponents.

Bomilkar parried yet another attack of the she-elf, he knocked her sword aside with sudden force, surprising her and leaving her front unprotected. He stabbed at her chest and she barely managed to sidestep the attack, leaving herself open once again. However before Bomilkar could move in for the kill she lashed out wildly with her free hand, scratching at his mask with her long nails. Bomilkar dropped his sword with a cry of horror, and then desperately pulled her hand off his face. She kneed him in the stomach and then put her sword at his throat.

"You aren't a bad fighter human, maybe we should keep you for the arena." She said, leering.

"It wouldn't go so well if you did." Said Marak happily, grabbing her from behind and putting a sharp knife to her throat. "Drop your weapon elf." He menaced, though he wasn't very threatening as he was still grinning.

She smiled thinly. "A Joraga warrior never surrenders."

Marak grinned. "I was hoping you were going to say that."

There was the sound of an arrow whistling through the air and the Kor let out a yell of pain, dropping his knife. They found themselves surrounded by fifty or so elves seemingly come out of nowhere, all with bows trained on the two of them and looking very menacing.

A lean and hard looking, grey haired elf stepped forward and bowed at the she-elf. "At your service, lady Revane."


End file.
